


A Tight Spot

by the-captains-ayebrows (EscapistFiction317704)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Celebrity!Killian, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Meet-Cute, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EscapistFiction317704/pseuds/the-captains-ayebrows
Summary: Celebrity AU:  It’s not that Emma Swan never dreamed about a late night rendezvous with her favorite movie star, Killian Jones. It’s just that this was NOT the way she imagined it happening…
A quick and ridiculous one-shot in honor of the birth of my beta and friend captainswannl29.





	

Those three little words were the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard: _All. Expenses. Paid._

Emma wanted to roll around in those words. Swim in them, just like she was practically swimming in her gigantic bed complete with ridiculously high thread count sheets and a duvet so cloudlike she was convinced it was stuffed with angel feathers. If luxury had a lap, this hotel would be it.

When her boss had ordered her to go to _yet another_ pointless corporate conference, Emma’s knee jerk reaction was blind fury. She was sick and tired of slogging through days at boring seminars and sleeping in cheap motels, just because Regina was always conveniently “far too busy” to attend herself. Emma was almost to the point of threatening to quit her job, but those three little words had mollified her somewhat. Not the skinty per diem she usually got, all expenses paid. Funny how the promise of a company credit card can change your attitude. That, and hearing Regina command her assistant to “book a decent hotel this time.”

“Decent” had turned out to be the poshest boutique hotel in New York. For a girl who grew up with nothing, this place was a wonderland she couldn’t have concocted even in her childhood dreams. Looking down at her perfectly pedicured toes (courtesy of the spa downstairs and the generosity of Mills & Mills, Ltd.), Emma mused that the week-long conference might just be tolerable after all. In fact, she should probably call the concierge’s desk and order a gift basket to send to Regina’s assistant. She smiled to herself at the thought and gave a catlike stretch, wriggling her shoulders to nestle further down into the veritable throne of pillows she’d constructed.

Just as she reached for the phone, her stomach growled. _Or maybe I’ll call room service._ In her excitement to avail herself of all the amenities the hotel had to offer, she’d kind of skipped over the whole dinner thing, but one glance at the clock on the nightstand had her frowning. The soothing blue LED display read 2:00 a.m. _How the hell did it get so late?_

She ran through her evening’s activities in her head. Pedicure. Long, hot bath in the marble soaking tub. Clean undies and a tank top, because those sheets were too soft to have pajama bottoms in the way. Built a pillow fort on the enormous bed, because she’s a goddamn adult. Settled in to binge-watch several episodes of “Black Sails” on the curved panoramic Ultra HD TV, because who doesn’t love pirates in high def? _Oh_. _So, yeah. 2:00 a.m._

It was too late to order room service, but that didn’t stop her stomach from giving another snarl of protest. Emma scowled in thought. She had a half-eaten bag of pretzels in her car left over from the drive down from Maine, but reaching those would involve getting her car out of valet and - worst of all - getting dressed and leaving this hotel room. Totally unacceptable.

Then she remembered she’d passed an alcove labeled “Ice and Vending” between her room and the elevator, and suddenly nothing in the world sounded better than a Snickers bar. Her stomach rumbled its assent. It would still involve leaving the room, but maybe the getting dressed part could still be optional. She was probably no more than ten steps away from sugary glory, and who the hell would be wandering around at this time of night? She could just make a run for it. Be there and back in two minutes or less. Totally foolproof.

Emma extricated herself from the mass of pillows and blankets and dug a handful of change out of her purse. _I guess I can pay for my own candy bar,_ she thought with a smirk. _Or I can put it on my expense report later..._

Cracking the door open slightly and peeking both ways down the hall to make sure it was empty, she carefully propped the door open so it wouldn’t latch and ran for it.

In retrospect she should’ve known better, if for no other reason than because the day had honestly been going too well. Really, she should have expected that a hotel this swanky wouldn’t have anything as plebeian as a Snickers in its vending machine. Nope. Instead it offered a selection of artisan kale chips, gluten-free chia bars ( _like I’m seriously going to eat the seeds from a Chia Pet?_ ), and water infused with things like charcoal ( _gross_ ), cayenne pepper ( _what the frack?_ ), and maple ( _okay, that doesn’t sound too bad_ ).

As she stood there attempting to decide on the least objectionable option, Emma heard the clunk of a door unlocking further down the hall, followed by heavy footsteps headed in her direction. Her blood froze. There was no way she could run back to her room without this other human getting an eyeful of her favorite yellow duckie panties. Not an option. In her panicked state, she did the only logical thing she _could_ do: attempt to squeeze her body into the gap between the hipster snack machine and the ice maker, wait for the stranger to pass, then dart back to her room once he or she was gone.

Emma squirmed and maneuvered herself sideways into the small space, gooseflesh erupting down her legs ( _so much for shaving!)_ as her ass pressed against the cold metal of the snack machine. At least as long as she slouched a little and rested her shoulder blades back against the machine behind her, her breasts wouldn’t make contact with the frigid ice machine just a couple of inches away from her face. It wasn’t exactly a cozy hiding place, but Emma felt confident she was invisible to a casual passerby.

She was actually feeling rather proud of her split-second plan, when the footsteps paused. Tilting her head just enough to peer around the edge of the ice maker, she watched in horror as a tall figure rounded the corner into the vending area. A tall male figure. A tall, male, hot as all get out and - _oh my holy god and all the angels that’s Killian Fucking Jones._

Killian Jones. Star of stage and screen. Current home _and_ lock screen wallpaper on Emma’s cell phone. The face her mind’s eye conjured for, um, _inspiration_ whenever the dude du jour ( _de la nuit?_ ) she’d picked for a one-nighter was failing to get the job done.

_This isn’t real. This can’t be real life._ Her dream trip had officially become a nightmare. Specifically that nightmare where you’re trapped in a public place wearing only your underwear. _Yellow rubber-fucking-duckie printed underwear_ , no less.

Emma cringed hard, an involuntary whimper escaping her throat, but it didn’t matter. He would’ve seen her in a few seconds anyway. Still, the small sound seemed to draw his attention and he startled back. After a few blinks of confusion, he cocked an eyebrow, his handsome face assuming that million-dollar smirk known to induce panty-dropping each time it appeared on the silver screen. _Thank god that’s not literal panty-dropping or I’d really be in deep shit,_ Emma thought, then immediately and sternly told her brain to shut the hell up.

“Hello there,” he drawled, British accent even smoother in person than it sounded in the movie theater.

Emma cleared her throat, thinking quickly. _How am I gonna explain this?_

“Hi,” she replied. _Good start. Now keep going._ “I dropped a quarter and it rolled between the machines.” _Nice. That’s actually plausible._

Killian nodded, cocky smirk still firmly in place as his eyes raked over her from messy golden waves to bare feet, and Emma’s initial starstruck embarrassment began to mix with a spike of irritation that he seemed quite content to let her prattle on while he enjoyed the view.

“But I’ve got it now,” Emma continued with a tense imitation of a smile. She raised the hand closest to him and jingled the change clutched in her palm. “So, I’ll just be-”

She tried to wiggle back out from her little hidey-hole, but the sound of ripping fabric stopped her short. _Oh no. No, nonononono. No._

The fresh wave of panic must have been evident on her face because Killian’s smirk fell away and his brows furrowed. He lifted a hand to reach out to her, then seemed to think better of it.

He let his hand drop and instead asked, “Are you in need of some assistance, lass?”

Despite the surprising sincerity in his voice, Emma plastered on a fake smile. “Nope. I’ve got this. My shirt’s just hung on a screw or something.”

Emma contorted her arm up to try to reach behind her shoulder. When that failed, she arched her back and reached into the space between her spine and the vending machine, laying her palm flat against the metal surface and sliding it upwards until -

“Ow!” Emma cursed under her breath as a rough spot in the metal sliced her hand, anger rising inside her because she was no closer to freeing herself than before. She clenched her uninjured hand around the stack of coins and pounded the fist against the ice maker before letting her head tilt forward to rest against it. _This can’t be happening._

Without hesitation this time, Killian stepped closer, reaching out to lightly grasp her elbow. He ducked his head in an attempt to meet her eyes.

“Are you hurt? Let me help you, love.”

Fraught with frustration and embarrassment, Emma whipped her head to the side and glared at him. “I’m not your love!” she snapped, but when she registered the look of genuine concern in his eyes, she immediately regretted her harshness. She turned away resting her forehead again on the ice maker and scrunching her eyes shut.

“Sorry,” she whispered, as Killian stepped back and released her arm. She opened her eyes slowly, cutting them to the side to look at him without turning her head. “I may have fractured my manners along with my dignity.”

The rich sound of his laugh gave her the courage to turn her head to face him fully, a sheepish smile tilting her lips.

“No worries,” he replied, his magazine-cover-worthy smile gleaming at her. “I’d be more than happy to help you there, but I will have to, ah-” he raised a hand, wiggling the fingers and then pointing to Emma’s torso.

“Right.” Emma pressed her lips into a tight line and gave a small nod. He was going to have to touch her. Killian Jones was about to touch her body. No big deal. Not like this was the most embarrassing scenario possible or anything. Cool.

He took a step toward her. “You sure? I’ve got my cell with me. I could try to contact the hotel staff-”

“No!” Emma practically shouted before she could catch herself. _Great going, Emma,_ she thought. _Let’s wake up the whole floor so everyone gets a show._

She sniffed, looking anywhere but at him. “No,” she repeated more calmly. “The fewer people who have to see me like this, the better.” She gestured for him to get on with it. “It’s fine. Do what you’ve gotta do.”

Still avoiding looking at him, she felt his body heat right next to her before she even realized he’d moved. Then his large, calloused hand was on the small of her back, his hot breath tickling her ear. Despite her body’s urge to shiver, Emma held perfectly still. She willed her pounding heart to calm down, hoping to all higher powers that Killian couldn’t hear its erratic beat. _Keep it together, dammit!_

“Arch your back for me, love, it’s a pretty tight fit in here.”

That did it. No amount of butterflies in her stomach, or tingles down her spine at his proximity could overcome the utter ridiculousness of this situation. Emma burst out laughing, nearly crushing Killian’s hand between her back and the godforsaken vending machine in the process.

“ _Seriously?_ This has gone from a nightmare to a bad porno!” she wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye and struggling to get herself back under control.

“Aye,” he chuckled. “I suppose that was a bit ill-phrased.”

Killian pulled his hand away, and Emma looked over to gauge his reaction. Was he annoyed? Did he think she was a complete weirdo?  But when their eyes locked, they both broke into another round of laughter.

After indulging for a few moments more, Emma attempted speaking again. “Okay, okay, okay.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll stop if you will. Now, please just get me outta here.”

Killian smiled broadly at her and inclined his head in an almost courtly gesture. “As the lady wishes.”

This time when he reached one hand across her collarbone and over her shoulder and the other up underneath her shoulder blades, the _last_ thing on Emma’s mind was laughing. In fact, she was having trouble thinking about anything besides how close he was and how good he smelled and how she needed to keep her eyes on the ceiling and breathe, breathe, breathe.

She felt a small jolt as the material of her shirt gave way, then made the fatal mistake of turning her head to thank him. The words died in her throat as clear blue eyes, which she now realized no photoshoot had ever done justice, bored into hers from mere inches away. Overwhelmed, she let her eyes fall slightly, but if possible, that was even worse mistake, as her gaze landed on his lips just in time to see his tongue dart out to wet the lower one.

They both stood transfixed for what could’ve been seconds or hours, until they seemed to simultaneously realize that she was still wedged between vending machines and his arms were still around her. Killian stepped back abruptly with a mumbled apology and reached a hand up to scratch behind his ear as Emma awkwardly scooted out from between the machines.

“So…” Emma began haltingly, not knowing which parts of her body to attempt to cover with her arms or if it was even worth the effort at this point. She settled on crossing them around her waist, coins still fisted in one hand, the other tucked flat against her side. “I guess I should thank you, Killian.” She paused a beat, her eyes widening as she realized he’d never said his name. “Jones. God, that’s weird to say. Sorry.”

_Shit. Way to be cool, Emma._ She shook her head slightly in exasperation with herself, but Killian’s sheepish grin morphed back into his trademark smirk.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me. Always nice to have made an impression.”

Emma rolled her eyes at him, but couldn’t completely stifle her smile. “Really?”

He shrugged unapologetically, wicked grin still in place. “Since you seem to know who I am, I believe you have me at a bit of a disadvantage. Just who are you, lass? Besides the mysterious woman stuck behind a snack machine in the middle of the night wearing naught but a man’s undershirt and a rather unique set of bath-toy printed knickers?”

Without thinking Emma took a step closer to him and narrowed her eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His smirk dropped for a moment as he wet his lips in thought. There was that damn sincerity in his eyes again, and Emma could feel the beginnings of a blush creeping up her neck even before he answered, “Perhaps I would.”

She considered him briefly, then extended her empty hand for him to shake. “Emma Swan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma Swan.”

The corners of his lips quirked up into a soft smile as he took her hand, and little flickering sparks shot up Emma’s arm mixed with a sharp stab of pain in her palm. She jerked her hand away with a hiss.

For a split second, hurt flashed across Killian’s face, but it was rapidly replaced by concern. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?”

He pointed to her shirt, where a thin red line of blood stained the place where her hand had rested. “Your hand. It’s cut. Let me-”

“No, no it’s fine,” she protested. She tried to hide her hand, but he reached out and caught it, gingerly holding it palm up to look at the wound. She met his gaze briefly, but the unfamiliar expression of care she saw there had her quickly looking away.

“No, it’s not,” he replied gently. “That’ll need some tending, love.” He released her hand and gestured over his shoulder. “I’ve got a first aid kit back in my-”

“Oh my god, if you invite me back to your room to play doctor, this will _officially_ be a bad porno.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think about them. Emma blushed furiously crossing her arms around her body again, but Killian laughed - a warm, full bodied laugh that took her by surprise. She faced him fully then, squaring her body to his and cocking her head in question.

He made a show of looking her up and down before finally commenting. “Oh no, love. I believe if this were a porno, you’d be clad in slightly more scandalous sleepwear. Or at the very least -” he eyed her rubber duckie underwear intently. “-I’d have to make some sort of inappropriate comment about it, such as…” He tapped a finger on his chin, feigning thought, then lowered his voice and fixed her with his infamous smouldering eyes. “I want to squeeze you until you squeak for me.”

Emma literally snorted, as much at the lame line as at how ludicrously proud he looked of himself for thinking of it. She waved her hand. “No, no - how about this one?” She tried to school her features into a version of his smirk, adding a little huskiness to her own voice. “You seem to have charmed the pants right off of me.” She bit coyly at a fingernail and batted her eyes.

Emma held a straight face as long as she could, but it was no use. His laughter was infectious. Even after they both caught their breath, they lingered simply smiling at each other.

Finally, Emma sighed. “I should probably go back to my room. I’ve apparently got a date with a tube of Neosporin and a band-aid.” She scowled briefly down at the cut on her hand, then looked back up with a shrug. “Plus, I have to get up in a few hours for a work thing in the morning.”

Killian nodded. “Aye, me as well. I’m supposed to be doing the morning talk show circuit this week. Promoting the new film and all that.”

Emma’s smile faltered. Right. Because he’s a movie star. An actual famous person. Her ‘work thing’ was a dull marketing lecture, but _his_ was bantering with Kelly Ripa on live television. She’d actually managed to forget for a few minutes, somewhere amidst his smiles and cheesy jokes, that this all was a blip. A one-time thing. A night in the Twilight Zone, where someone like her gets to talk to (and embarrass the hell out of herself in front of) a guy like him. Emma shoved her hair behind her ears and nodded in acknowledgement.

“Better let you go then. Thanks again for getting me out of there. This has by far been the weirdest night of my life. All I wanted was a freaking Snickers!” she concluded with a wan smile.

“It’s certainly been an experience,” Killian agreed. He paused, and if Emma didn’t know any better, she might describe his demeanor as shy. _That can’t be right._

“I, erm -” his hand reached back to scratch at his ear again, a gesture Emma struggled not to find endearing. “I don’t suppose you’d...” He trailed off, a hopeful expression in his eyes.

_Is he...? No. Couldn’t be. Stuff like that doesn’t happen to people like me. But..._

“I’ll be staying here the rest of the week,” she offered tentatively, and was rewarded with a beaming smile from him.

_Huh. That’s interesting._ Emma returned his smile, feeling slightly emboldened. “So maybe I’ll see you around? You know, in daylight and with more clothes on.”

Killian waggled an eyebrow at that, and Emma rolled her eyes once more, not even bothering to hide her grin this time.

“See you around, Emma Swan. Good night.” He nodded and stepped aside to allow her to pass.

“Good night,” she replied, then walked the handful of steps to her door. She lingered a moment in the doorway, allowing herself one last glance in his direction, only to find Killian politely watching her from the entry to the vending alcove - almost as though he were a gentleman suitor making sure she got home safely after a date. Emma turned away quickly, tucking her chin so her hair fell forward to cover her flushed cheeks and half-grin before ducking into her room.

The next morning Emma awoke to a knock on on her door. She very intentionally took a minute to put on the super-plush hotel bathrobe and run her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair before answering. When she opened the door, no one was in sight, but her flash of disappointment was short lived.

There, sitting innocently atop her complimentary New York Times, was a king sized Snickers bar. A gleeful grin on her face, Emma picked up the candy, and turned it over. Pressed to the back was a small yellow sticky note with a phone number written in flourishing script along with the initials “KJ”.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to amagicalship and kat2609 for beta-ing this for me!
> 
> Implausibly enough, this fic is loosely based on an allegedly true anecdote told by a friend of mine who actually did make a late night ice run in just her undies and a tank, got locked out of her room, hid behind the ice machine, and got busted by... Matthew McConaughey. No romance ensued, but apparently he did help her by calling the hotel staff to let her back into her room.


End file.
